


When my time comes around: Lay me gently in the cold dark earth (No grave can hold my body down (I'll crawl home to her))

by HamiltonTrashPanda



Series: My Numerous Kanej Fics [5]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Capital Punishment, Execution, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public whipping, Shame, Song: Work Song (Hozier), Title from a Hozier Song, Torture, Vomiting, Whump, flagellation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamiltonTrashPanda/pseuds/HamiltonTrashPanda
Summary: On the day of his death, Kaz Brekker has only Inej Ghafa and the slow drumming of a tattoo in his mind.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey & Nina Zenik, Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker & Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik
Series: My Numerous Kanej Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050575
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	When my time comes around: Lay me gently in the cold dark earth (No grave can hold my body down (I'll crawl home to her))

**Author's Note:**

> Reader discretion *is* advised. If flagellation and torture and death and vomiting freak you out, please go. Be careful. Maybe go drink some water. Actually, everyone reading this, go drink water. Don't be like Kaz, take care of yourself.

On the day of his death, Kaz Brekker has only Inej Ghafa and the slow drumming of a tattoo in his mind.

A part of him wishes he got to see her one more time before he was arrested and before he was to be killed. A part of him is glad she isn’t in the city, so she won’t be forced to the execution of the King of the Barrel like anyone the standwatch can get their hands on will be. He won’t have to search for her in the crowds and find a way to tell her it’s going to be okay.    
  


They’re sending a message, making everyone, including all men of the Barrel, attend the end of Kaz Brekker, and whatever meagre funeral will be held for him. If he even gets one beyond being thrown onto the reapers barge, where finally he’ll be sent to wherever souls like his go. He’s glad that at least this time, he’ll actually be dead on the barge, and won’t have to crawl his way out even worse than before.

But another part of him seeks the comfort of her face and her dark beauty. The comfort of his Wraith by him one last time, because he’s never going to be able to hold her hands ever again. He’s never going to see her excitement as she talks about the fury she beats down unto slavers, and that lustrous gleam she gets when she talks about death.  _ His little angel of death _ .

He’s forced awake the day of his death and given no food. Most prisoners on death row in Kerch are given a final meal, but Kaz Brekker was not—a peculiar cruelty. Heavy manacles that even he can’t hope to pick on his own are clamped around his wrists, and he flexes his hands as the guard’s skin brushes his, swallowing down the bile.

A hood is pulled over his face and he’s thrown into a prison wagon and clamped down with more chains. Now would be a great time to mull over his final words, but if the Merchant Council is smart, they won’t let him say a single word. So his last words remain enclosed in a letter he insisted be sent to a port in Os Alta, where an old friend sometimes passed through.

_ Do not hang on to me, let my troubled soul rest. May the Saints stay with you forever. I love you, Inej. No mourners. No funerals.  _

_ Forever yours, Kaz R. Brekker _

He hears the crowd before the door, but then his hood is off and he’s being dragged to the platform where his end will meet him. He hears jeers and calls, but he manages to tune that out at least, as he’s forced up the steps. His leg screams, and his jaw twitches. The Kerch military beat out a tattoo. 

He’s forced to his knees, and he hangs his head low, not wanting to search the crowd. The charges are read out, and he cracks a small smile against the pain he knows is coming. Because before prisoners are executed in Kerch, their most commonly flagged, to inflict some final pain before the quick death by the axe. 

His shirt is ripped open from the back, and his hands clench around the edges of the manacles as the skin on skin contact continues. A hush falls over the crowd as footsteps approach from behind him, the vibrations of which he can feel through the wood.

A merchant from the council is speaking, “Two hundred lashes have been deemed appropriate for this heathen.” Cheers went up, and Kaz grimaced. That was four times higher than most in his position got, and some of them hadn’t survived that. But he wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

The first bite wasn’t _too_ bad. But it just kept...growing and growing. The flogger took his time, not allowing Kaz’s body to drown out the pain. Soon he was biting back the screams, and his back was certainly becoming a bloody mess. He began to hear his Da, his Ma, _Jordie_ in his ears, telling him to come home to them. He almost lets go— _you_ _worthless bastard_ _you’re only 50 lashes in._

There’s a longer break after the first fifty, and Kaz’s chest rises and falls rapidly, mouth ever so slightly open. Jeers rise again, and Kaz closes his eyes, taking in another shaky breath as the morning breeze runs over his open rooms. He is not going to scream, give his enemies the pleasure of seeing him like that. 

He’s not expecting the next lash, and he lurches even more forward, the building screams in the back of his throat. His hands clasp each other, sweat making them sticky. He made a choked noise, heard well over the crowd that had once again fallen silent. Laughter broke out, deep and hearty, probably men of rival gangs. 

Lash 79? 83? is what gets him. He doesn’t exactly scream, but the noise he makes when the whip hits his back again is not quiet in the slightest. He winces internally, and another round of laughter from the same deep voices can be heard. 

The second half is where he truly loses it. His screams echo through Ketterdam, black glass shattering into a million pieces. The richer people of the crowds, who came to see the man who had put them into so much fear for years, fell into horrified silence. The mothers in the crowd feel a pang in their chest because he doesn’t look too old, now that they look at him.

And then it’s all over, and Kaz knows he has only a few minutes. He takes the deepest breaths he can, trying to savour something. “The prisoner will now be executed by the axe.”

_ Unto my death then _ , he thinks.

The crowd is silent, as Kaz is all but dragged to the execution block and his neck is fitted into the divot in wood. Kaz feels the cool edge of the axe press lightly against the skin of his neck, lining up. He whispers her name one more time to himself in his head, and the axe leaves his skin, and—

The explosion sends him flying back, and he lands on his manacles, cracking them. Shrieks and screaming fill the ashen air, and he hears footsteps approach. To his surprise, his chains are pulled off his wrists. That’s when he realises something is amiss here, and that this isn’t someone trying to take him back to prison. Someone is helping him.

It becomes evident who it is, when he hears a voice he knows well speaking, “Hold still, Kaz, it’s me, Jesper. Can you walk?”

“If you hadn’t sent me flying, probably,” he says sharply, biting his tongue as the pain rolls over him.

“Good to know your manners are as good as ever, Brekker.” Kaz cracks a smile, and Jesper helps him up, trying not to touch his skin. “We have to move, we have a coach waiting.”

“We?”

“Shut up and move,” Jesper said lightly, half helping Kaz walk, half dragging him. They entered a side street and there Jesper truly started to carry him, the pain growing hard and fast. He heard a door open, and he was helped into the coach. He heard the person driving the damn thing shout and they were off.

Kaz sat lightly on his chair, hair plastered to his face as he tried not to soil the seats. His head spun with pain and black spots clouded his vision. His hands were uncomfortably bare, and he felt like everyone was staring at them. He must have made a sound of discomfort because Jesper is talking, saying something,  _ he can’t focus _ .

“Almost there,” he does hear. Kaz doesn’t ask where ‘there’ is, all he wants is her. 

He doesn’t need Jesper to tell him they’re here because he deduces that pretty quickly when the door flies open, he’s helped out, but someone’s speaking, “Get him on a stretcher,  _ now _ !” He shakes his head. He feels eyes on him and he shakes his head again.

“ _ No _ ,” he forces out.

“Kaz,” he tenses up, goodness in his ears, “Do it for me, m’kay?” He shakes his head violently. 

“Captain, we have to go,” another, deeper voice speaks.

“Kaz, please,” he squares his jaw but lets himself be settled onto the stretcher, back up, and be carried off. In fact, he almost falls asleep, his bare hand flopping over the side. He feels her warm fingers intertwine lightly with his and when he doesn’t pull away, she presses her hand to his until there is nothing between the two, even air. Her hands are warm against his cool, and he would give everything to savour that feeling forever.

* * *

He doesn’t recall falling asleep, but you don’t tend to realise you were until you aren’t. He wakes with a gasp and tries to sit up but the pain in his back and a restraining arm on his bare chest stop him. He’s grateful that the person’s sleeves are long, but then he realises that someones in the same room as him.

His head snaps to the direction where the arm comes from, and he sees Inej by her side, her angled face serene. Her eyes are soft as she removes her arm from him, allowing Kaz to move. Slowly, he sits up on his elbows, hanging his head back and taking in slow, luxurious breaths. 

“Where are we right now?”

“Off the coast of Ravka.”

“How long was I out?”

“Two days.”

He becomes aware that in his sleep, his pants have been changed and a fresh pair of leather gloves are on his hands. “I changed your clothes,” she tells him suddenly, and he looks at her. She stands and bustles about her cabin, drawing back the curtains. They must be in the hull because the water slams against the window. 

“Better you than anyone else,” He says softly. 

“How does your back feel?” She asks, a tremor in her voice exposing her anxiety. 

He pauses, hanging his head as he quietly speaks, but not in an answer to her question, “When I was being...flogged, I heard voices. My Da, my Ma, and—” he exhales, his breath shaking.

“And?” Inej pries lightly.

“Jordie.” He hears her deep sigh, and he curls into himself slightly. “You’re disappointed with me.”

She comes to his side, hand resting on his knee through the sheets, her thumb gently rubbing through the layers of fabric. He looks at her. Her face is sad, and she meets his eyes, “No I’m not.” Her hand hovers above his cheek and he presses into it, kissing the palm. He lets his eyes close.

“I’m scared for you.” 

His eyes snap to attention again, meeting her the black stars of her eyes. “Why?”

“Because you were arrested, and came face to face with your death. Why did you not fight, my love? I was there, I saw. That was not the man I knew.”

He looks away but doesn’t fully pull back. “I heard their voices.” He forces between his teeth “They opened their arms to me, and I wanted to give in. I almost did.”

“But why? Why are you so unmoved by your death seconds away?” She presses, and he hears her sniff. “Why do you not fight? Do you not want to come home to me? To us?”

He forces himself to meet her eyes, to face the conviction in her eyes, to answer to it. He meets her eyes, but that’s when it all falls apart. There is no conviction, only concern and somehow that is entirely the worst thing ever. He shakes his head, pulling away. 

“Why did  _ you _ come?” He says, turning her question on her slightly, coldness seeping in. She frowns at him. 

“Do you know what the day after tomorrow is?”

Kaz pauses. Thinks. “...No.”

She laughs a bit and he’s not sure what’s funny, but her face softens and she looks at him again, tilting her head. “You really don’t know?”

He shakes his head, “Your birthday, Kaz. I was coming back to Ketterdam already as a surprise for your birthday.” He stares at her, mouth hanging slightly open. 

Her eyes steel, “You never answered my question though. Why didn’t you fight?”

He’s silent for a while. Inej waits. Kaz sits up further, “I don’t want an interrogation,  _ Wraith _ .”

“And I don’t want to argue,” She replies, crossing her arms. Kaz fully sits up and swings his legs over the side of his bed, and Inej makes a sound of protest, taking his arm in her hand. He pulls away and glares at her, but the heat dissipates in seconds. 

She stares at him with that look that makes him want to give her everything and scrape and bow to her, forever telling her that she deserves more than a boy with all the wrong cards. It's his favourite and least favourite thing about her, and it sends him into shambles every time he sees her. So he speaks:

“ _ I’m tired, Inej _ . I didn’t want to get arrested, not by a long shot. But they knew who I was, I knew, or I thought, you weren’t due in the city for months, and I just...I was ready to go. I’ve done everything I’d set out to do. I have Kruge, and Pekka Rollings is a dead man with a heart that still beats. I was ready to,” he takes a deep breath.

“I was ready to go. To face my sins in whatever afterlife awaits me. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. I was just thinking about myself. What I had done. I didn’t think of you or Jesper, or Nina, or—”

“It’s okay, Kaz. I know, love,” She stands up, but he takes her hand in his, the fresh leather a nice feeling against her callouses. He swipes his thumb over her knuckles, before slowly bringing them to his lips. The kiss he gives them is as light as the brush of a feather, but it’s enough.

“It’s okay, get some rest, it’s okay…”

His other hand comes up to clasp her dark hands in his, and he holds them there for a moment, eyes closed like in prayer. Then he let her go, and she left the room.

* * *

An hour later finds him hunched over the toilet in Inej’s bathroom, spilling his guts out. It seemed that the hundreds of brushes with other people's skin he’d had over the past few days were catching up with him, and he was decidedly  _ not _ on the winning side.

He dry heaves over the bowl, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and the blood from the scab he picked open. A shudder wracks his body as more of his stomach is forcibly dispelled from him, his head spinning with vertigo. His heart beats like a drum in his chest, and his breaths struggle to come in. 

“Fuck,” he moans.

“Kaz, love?” A gentle voice carries through the door. “Are you sick? Can I come in?” His only response was a moan, and spilling out his guts again. “Kaz, I can’t come in, the doors locked, honey.”

“Pick it open,” he groans. He hears his exasperated sigh, but soon enough he hears the door click open, and Inej’s familiar presence at his side. 

Then she’s bustling around the cabin and the bathroom and soon enough there's a blissful cold against his forehead, and cold water from the cloth at his head drips down his face. He moans and presses into it, hands shaking and scrambling for leverage on the porcelain bowl. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, “Take some deep breaths. In and Out.” She demonstrates, and Kaz slowly falls into rhythm with her, but his body is still wracked with tremors, and his mouth is still dry. His back burns slightly, and he's sure the hunched over position he’s been in for the last half-hour has not helped his two-day-old scars.

“Can I touch you?” He shakes his head, “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you a shirt.”

“Wait,” he says.

“What?”

“Where's my cane?”

“Being fixed by my weapons master. We managed to snag it, but it was damaged. I knew you wouldn’t go down without a fight.” The love in her voice makes him shiver, and she’s gone seconds later. 

The time she’s gone feels like hours and milliseconds at the same time, but soon enough, she’s back. He gasps for his breaths in a strange show of relief, hanging his head over the bowl. She puts the shirt over his shoulders, trusting him to get it on fully. 

He does, slowly, being conscious of his back and the bandages. It hangs open at the front, not much lighter than his pallid skin. Inej’s hand, slowly and with a practised purpose, finds its place on his back. He hisses at the new pressure but does not ask for her to take her hand off it.

“Can I touch your hair? It’s stuck to your face.” He nods and then her fingers are tugging lightly through his short hair, brushing back from his sweaty face. She takes the cloth again and wipes the blood from the scab away. He tilts his head back, and Inej gives a flutter of a kiss on his head. But something overcomes him, and he lurches forward again, spilling out his guts one more time.

“Water,” he rasps when he is no longer heaving, hanging his head over the bowl again, black gloves still holding the bowl in a vice grip, “Please.” The black hands stand out harshly in the white room like they don’t belong. Inej brings him the requested water and he sits back against the wall, drinking slowly out of what he is pretty sure is a beer mug. 

It's gone a few minutes later, and he leans against the wall, arms crossing over his stomach. He sees Inej glance at the exposed tattoo before cleaning up the mess he made. “You don’t have to do that,” he says through half-closed eyes as he watches her from his place against the wall. 

“Shhhhh,” she says, “None of that. I want to help.”

Kaz hums in agreement, closing his eyes. He falls into a semi-unconscious state, too tired for shame. “Kaz?”

“Hm?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

He pauses, “No idea.”

Inej sighs yet again— _ he’s been causing a lot of those today _ —and he creaks open his eyes. She stands above him, a carven figure whose dark eyes are only on him. But her face is as warm as ever and he reaches out for her, like a babe to their mother.

She crouches down in front of him, between his legs. His gloved hands take her face in them, and he brings it to his. Their foreheads barely brush as he mutters an indistinct spiral of words, which Inej takes in with her endless patience.

“I’ll get you some food,” his head presses back an indescribable sound escaping between the clench of his teeth. Her hand squeezes his shoulder, and he grabs her by the wrist, rubbing his thumb over the marred skin of her arm. She sighs, leaning forward as she does so her forehead takes the place of her hand. She brushes her lips, kissing his shoulder. Kaz is entirely still beneath him, the only moment being the rise and fall of his chest. 

She pulls back, but his hand is still on her wrist. She brushes the knuckles with her free hand.“Let me go,” she says softly, with zero conviction. It should be easy, because that's what he's always done, just let go. Why does this feel impossible? Let her go. Let her go. Let her go.

He does just that. His fingers slowly slacken on her wrist and the knee he's unknowingly brought up to her side falls down and rests. “Can you get to the bed on your own?” she asks.

“I think I should stay here. Just in case,” he glances at the toilet. Inej nods and then he’s left alone in the all-white room, feeling quite out of place. Wrapping his arms around him tightly, he lets his head roll forward, he dozes off.

* * *

She comes back with a bowl of hot soup and a fresh glass of water, the squeak of the door as she nudges it open with her foot being what wakes her. He stirs slightly, and despite having been asleep for at most ten minutes, his muscles and joints ache as he sits up.

He eats in silence next to Inej, who sharpens and twirls her knives. He watches over his spoon, enthralled beyond words. He finishes, still hungry, but he can’t have too much food after almost a week of not having a proper meal, or he would be spending more quality time with the toilet and the sounds of his own retching. 

He sets his bowl on the floor and watches as Inej twirls the knife over her knuckles. She knows he loves watching her and her knives, and maybe she’s trying to make him feel just that bit better. He presses his forehead to her shoulder, not unlike how she did a few minutes ago. His hot breath passes easily through her long-sleeved shirt. She smiles, glancing at him. 

He shifts so his head rests on her shoulder, and she leans her head down so it rests on his. Their legs press together, and he finds it in himself to wrap her pinky in his. Her hair falls down his face, a soft curtain. 

“We’ll be in Ravkan by the end of today,” is what she says first. “And Nina and Matthais house by mid tomorrow morning.”

“So that’s where we're headed,” he mumbles. 

“Then it’s your birthday, Kaz.” He sighs, muttering something in Kerch. “What do you want?”

“Pekka Rollings to remember Jordie’s name.”

“Realistically, dear.”

“You are no fun,” he says, causing her to laugh.

“That’s my goal. To annoy you to the ends of the world, then bring you back home to me.” 

“Hm, I like that goal.”

“Do you now?”

He pulls away from her, and she turns to him expectantly. “Except for one thing…”

“And pray do tell, what is that?”

He moves so he's in front of her, legs pressed together, hands on the floor beside her. Face inches away.

“You wouldn’t have to bring me back. I’ll crawl home to you if it was the last thing I ever did. If it meant I got to see your face one last time, I would kill everyone.” She looks at him with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.

“ _ Kaz _ ,” she says on her exhale, her words coming out in a torrent of breathless whispers “You bastard, you can’t just say that—”

“Says who?” He teases, but his smile falls and he takes her face in his hands again, and this time the grip is different. He sits crossed leg on the floor, Inej in front of him. There's a possessiveness about it as if he’s just caught lightning and isn’t ready to let it go. He closes his eyes and presses her head to his—nose and foreheads touching.

“ _ Kaz _ ,” Inej whispers again.

The smile that breaks across his face is the one she’s only seen around her. Thin and showing a hint of his teeth, but the most genuine thing he can do. He chuckles softly, and Inej lets it just be the two of them, curled up on a bathroom floor, for as long as life will let them.

* * *

True to Inej's word, they arrived in Ravka that night. A Grisha Doctor looked over Kaz before they left, while Inej sat close by, distracting him. The doctor was patient and wore gloves, but Kaz still didn’t like it. He nearly lost it once, but it was her steady voice and fervent words that stopped him from truly losing it. 

That night they stayed in a little inn at the port town that Nina and Matthais had booked for them. Jesper and Wylan took the room with one bed, while Kaz and Inej had their own beds in the other room. Inej changed his bandages, and they watched the stars rising through their window, a rare sight in Ketterdam. He glances at his newly mended cane.

They didn’t sleep in the next morning, now needing to make as little of a trail to their safe house as possible. The Kerch were still out for Kaz and it would be months until he could come back in full. He had never been so glad that Anika was as loyal to him as she was. He’d have to communicate all orders through her. 

The dawn was just breaking when they checked out and found the carriage that Nina and Matthais had sent ahead. It was comfortable, large, and warm, but Kaz pulled his dark jacket around him nonetheless. Inej sat by him, watching the Ravkan countryside pass by in an emerald green ripple of land. 

Wylan dozes, and so does Inej. Kaz doesn’t look at his other companion. He hasn’t really been able to speak to Jesper since he saved his life. It’s a weird thing to leave off on. Slowly, he looks at Jesper, whose grey eyes are roaming the carriage.

“Thank you, Jes,” he says quietly.

Jesper looks at him and smiles. He doesn’t speak, and Kaz has never been so glad that Jesper knows how Kaz Brekker works. Because sometimes it feels like he doesn’t know himself, and Inej and Jesper are the only things keeping him sane.   
  


The rest of the ride passes in relative silence. It's mid-morning, just like Inej said when they pull up to the traditional country house. Inej is the first out of the carriage, running into Nina’s waiting arms, Jesper close behind. Wylan follows with a smile, and Kaz is last, purposely walking behind the group.

They’re ushered inside, and Matthais takes their bags for him, and they're assembled in the living room. Matthias offers only Kaz whiskey, and he takes it. It’s a good southern Kerch whiskey, one that Kaz is partial to. Kaz wonders how he knew what he liked.

He sits delicately on the couch, whiskey in his hands, coat in the front hall. Inej is by his side, her knee brushing his. If his friends notice, they don’t comment and carry out a conversation that Kaz doesn’t join. Occasionally, his friends glance at him.

“Here, let's show you guys your rooms,” Nina says, getting up. The group follows, and Inej helps Kaz up. She smooths his shirt out, and they walk to the stairs where their friends wait. Kaz goes up the stairs first, Inej by his side.

They reach the landing and Nina points to a dark door, telling Inej and Kaz that there are two beds in there for them. They go to the room, and Kaz all but flops on the bed closest to the door. His back hisses in pain, and he groans, grabbing a pillow to rest his head-on. 

“I’ll need to change your bandages soon,” she reminds him. He nods into the pillow, “How was your whiskey?” He gives her a thumbs up, before dropping his hand down and hitting the side of the bed. He winces in pain. 

She sits on his bed, next to his long legs. “How do you feel?” His only answer is a long groan and a further burying of his head in the pillow. “Fair. Get some more sleep. We’re safe now.”

* * *

When he wakes up again, again not recalling ever falling asleep, the sun is streaming through the windows in hazy rays of gold. He blinks his eyes open, looking for the person who’s been at his bedside non-stop recently. He doesn’t see her.

Sitting up slowly, Kaz looks around the room which he now realises is empty. His brow furrows in confusion, as he wonders where she went. Then he hears the sound of running water in the bathroom.

Slowly, and as to not hurt his back further, Kaz gets up and out of his bed, grabbing his cane and walking to the closed bathroom door. He raps his knuckles against the wood, and her voice carries through. “Come in.”

He does just that, propping his cane against the wall, and sits on a stool in the bathroom where he can watch Inej. Her back is to him, and her shirt and vest are piled in the corner. She seems to be applying a salve to a mark on her torso. 

“What happened?”

“Knifed in the scuffle a few days ago,” he sits up, “I’m fine Kaz. I’ve had worse.”

He blows a huff of air out, her assurances of being fine not stopping the annoying, gnawing worry in his heart. He stands up shakily, and walks to her, coming to stand behind her. She turns her head to the side, so her eyes can find him. 

_ Saints Inej, what did I do to deserve you? Who the hell did I con to get you?  _ He wants to ask her, but the words stick like taffy in his throat. Inej sees the pang across his face, “Are you alright?” 

He just sighs and places his hands on her sides leaning in an inch closer to her. It feels like miles. She mirrors his sigh, facing forward and smiling at him in the mirror. He doesn’t notice, his brows drawn together in tight thought. He looks so handsome.

But suddenly their skin accidentally brushes, and Kaz wrenches himself back, hitting the wall and sliding down, hands clutching the sides of his head. He fights for his breaths, and Inej watches him nervously, tugging on her shirt. 

She grabs a washcloth and wets it in the sink, carefully folding it and wringing out the excess water. She walks to Kaz, and stands by his side, gently placing the cloth on his forehead. She presses slightly, and after a moment, Kaz presses his head back. His breaths rattle in his chest.

She pushed the cloth up, pushing his hair back from his brow, mopping up the sweat beading on his hairline.

A single tear tracks down his face, and then more and more fall, tracks of silver across his pale face. Inej longs to wipe them away. She does not. She goes back to the sink a few times and cleans the sweat and grime off his face with the cool, wet cloth, minding where her hands are at all times.

Kaz gets up a few minutes later and takes her place over the sink, leaning heavily on it as he puts all his weight on it and his good leg. Inej drags the stool over, and he rests his bad leg on it and unbuttons his shirt, it had grown sticky from the sweat pooling at the nape of his neck. His hands clutch at the sides, flexing every so often to keep the blood flowing. Inej left the bathroom, coming back a few minutes later with what Kaz knew to be the first aid kit. 

She wears medical gloves as she pulls back the bandages. It hurts slightly, and he moans as one particularly nasty lash is revealed by the bandage. She stops, and glances at his bad leg, which is bouncing slightly on the stool, “Stop that,” she tells him. His leg stills and Inej continues removing the bandages a few seconds later.

When the bandages are nothing but a crimson heap on the floor, Inej gets a good look at them for the first time. She hadn’t looked when the doctors had been working on him, and the lighting at the inn had been absolute shit anyways. The lashes are deep and red, crossing his back in an X. Some of his upper arms are also hit, but it’s not as bad.

The worst lash starts right below where his haircut fades out, next to his left ear, crossing his back like a deep ravine. It dips into his pants, where it ends somewhere on his upper right leg. It’s red and nasty, and the stitches aren’t making her feel any better.

“Kaz?” She says.

“What?” He says, voice quivering in pain.

“The stitches will have to be taken out in about a month. If we can, would you be bad if we got Tolya to come down and help out?”

“You can’t just summon a member of the Triumvirate, ‘Nej.” He says softly, avoiding the question. His hands flex on the bowl.

“I have connections and strings I can pull, so, yes, I can. But what about my question?” She grabs the anti-septic, “This may sting.”

He hisses as the anti-septic meets his wounds, and Inej speaks again, “Talk to me,” she croons. He doesn’t speak until she’s done. She stands off to the side, her gloves off as she prepares the bandages.

His muscles are tense, and he spits out the words as if they hurt, “I don’t fucking care.” 

“Yes you do,” she says gently. 

Hs shakes his head again, denying what they both know to be true. He cares a lot about who gets to heal him, who gets to touch him. “You,” he tries, “You said you were there, at...it,” he can't bring himself to say execution or whipping, shame bubbling tightly up in his chest

“I was. And it was the worst hour of my life,” His eyes shot up to hers, something shining in his eyes. A mix of fear and pain, wonder and love. She wanted to bottle it up forever.

“Tell me, please,” He said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know, Inej,  _ I DON’T KNOW _ .” He tugs at his hair, crying out at the last part. She shushes him, and sighs. He speaks again, “I’ll tell you mine. My worst hour.”

“Okay,” she says after a minute. “Okay.” She tells him it all. How she conspired with Jesper and Wylan and Anika to save his life. How they got there late and while Wy went and planted the bombs, Jesper had to hold her and stop her from screaming as the whip bit into his back over and over. 

She tells him how she fell to her knees when he started to scream. “I swear to the saints Kaz, I’ve never felt so lost in that hour.” He looks at her, eyes wide and childlike.

“But you saved me. You saved my life.” She nods, and he knows now that he has his own end of the bargain to meet. He sits up, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. He doesn’t give any pretence, he just rambles into the story.

“I had a brother Inej. Jordie. Brave, foolish Jordie.” She nods, having known that. “He died. In the Queen’s Lady Plague. I caught it too. They thought we were dead,” he gives a bitter laugh, “Sometimes I wish we both were. Jordie had died, but I hadn’t. They threw us both on the barge anyway.” His words echo in the bathroom, and he sucks in a shaky breath, and Inej watches him.

He’s overwhelmed, his mouth making the motions but the sounds are beyond him. He shudders and wilts, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Take your time.” He doesn’t want to take his time, he wants to tell her everything. Every damn memory, every damn hour, let every repressed emotion spill over into her arms. He doesn't, wrapping his arms around her.

“I wasn’t dead, Inej. Do you know what it’s like, being pushed down by dead bodies, while you are alive? Knowing you are sailing to your death? That you have to get out, but you can’t swim and you don’t have a raft so you…” he chokes on the tears that have accumulated, the hot streaks running down his face.

His next words come out in a deadly whisper, and he’s barely moving as he speaks. “So you use your brother as a raft.” That's where he leaves the story off, his voice breaking on the final word, shoulders shaking in pain and age-old anger as he tries not to sob. 

“Oh, Kaz,” she murmurs, her words rolling over him like a wave. He shudders. “Oh,  _ Kaz _ .”

“I’m hungry,” he says softly, not trusting his voice to stay level at any other volume. 

“Bandages first, dear.” He nods and doesn’t move or make a single noise as Inej wraps the gauze around him. He’s in a fit of silent anguish from his memories, but the gentle cradle growing around his torso and arms almost helps.

Then she’s done, and she’s leading him back to bed. Then Nina comes in with a bowl of soup, and then he eats with Inej by his side, and the waves reduce to gentle laps at his feet. Then he’s curling into the bed, and the sheets around him are being fussed, and he falls asleep to the sound of his own breathing.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning to laughter from downstairs seeping through his ajar door. He sees a tray of food on the bedside table, and a little note on it, which he takes and reads.

_ Happy Birthday, Kaz. - Inej, Jesper, Nina, Wylan, and Matthais  _

The last name looks like an afterthought, crammed in there, and he chuckles, tracing his hand over the ink of her name. He takes the food and eats, having time for such things for the first time in...since...he can’t remember the last time where he had a time like this. And it certainly was a time before he had the cares he now carried. Maybe before his Da died. When it was him, Jodie, and Da.

The echo of longing fills him, barely a shell of the real thing. He sighs and finishes his food, trying to keep his mind blank and away. It works and his food is gone minutes later. Leaning back on his bed, he watches the sun rising in the vast expanse of blue-sky in Ravka. 

Her footsteps are light, but he knows she purposely makes sure he hears her. “Happy Birthday, dear,” He smiles a little bit.    
  


“We were planning to take you out to dinner, at that restaurant you like. But that failed, so...what do you want to do, Kaz?”

He shrugs. She asks another question, “When you were younger,” She pauses, letting him take in the words, “What would you do?”

Hazy, half-forgotten memories, washed out with gold, appear causing him to frown. He remembers cake, and candles. He remembers how his parents never really had money, so presents were few and far between. He remembers aunts and uncles—

“I had aunts and uncles,” he says. “I  _ have _ aunts and uncles.” A delirious laugh escapes him, unbidden. 

“Do you want to find them?” Inej says softly.

He exhales, “No.”

The conversation ends there. The day continues. Nina makes his favourite food for dinner—who knows how she figured that out. They open a bottle of whiskey, and Kaz cracks a few smiles.

It’s nothing big and he’s given no gifts, but somewhere deep inside of him, warmth blossoms in his chest.

* * *

Days trickle by in a golden stream. At some point, he agrees to let Tolya come down and give his own assessment and take out the careful stitches, but on one condition. Kaz asks Inej for it one night when the moon is half full and it’s one of those blissfully weightless nights, where his words come freely.

“When Tolya comes…” he says, hands grasping at the sheets. Inej hums from where she sits on her bed, polishing her knives. He forces the next words out, not able to say anything but the blunt truth, “I don’t want to be awake.”

A shudder wracks his body, and he can feel her eyes on him, searching delicately. “Inej, please, sedate me. I don’t want to be,  _ I cannot be _ awake.” He knows that he will shatter, break into a million little pieces if someone touches him. He doesn’t want to sleep during it, he has so little trust in people, but he would also rather not lose the content of his stomach again.

She’s silent. “Okay. I understand Kaz. We can do that.” He smiles, just a bit.

“Thank you,”  _ From the bottom of my lying, dirty heart _ , “Thank you.”

Tolya arrives a few days later, and by the time his carriage even pulls up, Kaz has downed the sedative (And some whiskey), and is out on his bed. A device is over his mouth to make sure he stays breathing, and Inej is in the room too, sitting at his bedside, with his hands in hers. She leaves and lets Tolya be.

There’s a little scare, as Tolya first presses his hands against his back. Kaz stirs just a bit, and Tolya wrenches his hands back. Inej had informed him of Kaz’s repulsion to touch, unbeknownst to him. She had felt a little pang of regret as she put pen to paper to tell him, but Kaz didn’t need to know.

He’ll wake up, hours after Tolya leaves, in a dark room. He’ll have a small headache, and no memories of Tolya. He’ll barely remember the whiskey, a shame. Inej will come in a bit later, a tall glass of water in her hands. He’ll drink it slowly.

The group will have a small dinner that night, and he’ll mainly just listen to what his friends have to say. Jespers complaining about something, wishing he could go back home. Kaz will wince, the last memories of Ketterdam less than pleasant. 

Maybe he’ll smile when Nina and Jesper dance to Wylan’s piano, as Matthais watches with raised eyebrows, less than impressed. Maybe he’ll jibe that they look like Chickens. Maybe he’ll think about family. 

Maybe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Me to my friend: You know your boys a keeper when he falls asleep on your bathroom floor after puking his guts out in front of you


End file.
